Pocket John
by dalekexterminator
Summary: This is my take on the whole Pocket!lock craze :) rated T for mild, infrequent language, some intense stuff, and a bit of violence. No pairings.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: hello lovely viewer! This story is currently unfinished and somewhat unedited. If you spot any mistakes or just plain bad writing, please let me know :) constructive criticism is always welcome and very much needed. Thank you so much for reading!**

John Watson had always been a reckless borrower. His parents told him that his behavior was unorthodox and would not lead anywhere happy. He was thirteen, however, and venturing out into the world of the beans fascinated and terrified him. Perhaps his mother and father wouldn't have worried so much about this "phase," as they insisted on calling it, if they had lived somewhere less, well...interesting. The Holmes family (in whose home the Watson's resided) was not exactly sane, for lack of a better word. Their two boys were obviously bright (understatement of the year) and highly inquisitive. The younger was around John's age, but he wasn't sure of the exact number. What he did know, however, was that he loved to experiment. Oftentimes, the younger Holmes would leave random, unfinished projects lying around. And they were almost always dangerous. But that made John Watson's frequent excursions all the more exciting. He found the beans daily lives to be captivating and always worth risking his neck to see. The view from a desk, the feeling of absolute insignificance from under a table, the loneliness. It was wonderful and depressing all at the same time. Young John would also sometimes sit by a window and watch the large world fly by. If he could only see everything that it had to offer...'one day' he thought, 'one day I am going to SEE the world. No, I'm going to be on top of it.' And then he would smile to himself, always able to actually believe those words. Indeed, if John only knew what the future had in store for him, he might not have been so eager...

John couldn't believe how messed up things had gotten. Was this how it would end? Being smothered inside the black, stuffy folds of fabric? 'Well, this is it.' He thought, 'I'll either be discovered and experimented on or die here and then be discovered and experimented on. I'm not even sure which I prefer.' The events leading up to the poor boys predicament were rather unusual. Evening had fallen and the beans of the house should have been fast asleep. John had taken the opportunity as he normally did to re-explore the various nooks and crannies of the old home. His little sister, Harriet, was safely tucked in and he had heard his parents snoring contentedly when he left, so he didn't expect to have any trouble on that account. What he didn't expect, however, was danger from the outside. He was in the foyer, sitting on the bottom step to the staircase admiring the intricately carved front door, when he felt it. The sense. The fire in his belly that roared to life whenever he was about to be seen. His father had told him that it was a gift some borrowers were blessed with, and that he was extremely lucky to have it. No problem. The bean was coming down the stairs. All he had to do was run under the grandfather clock and stay put until the danger had passed. John was tempted to roll his eyes. Why was a bean up this late? How inconsiderate! Well, he supposed it would have been inconsiderate if the beans had even considered the possibility that there might be others besides themselves in the world. In any case, John quickly scurried under the ancient time machine, hoping there would not be too much dust. He was greatly disappointed. Holding his nose to keep from sneezing John tried to relax, but could not. A feeling of dread had stolen over him, replacing the fire with icy chills. He turned, hoping beyond hope that he was imagining things. Alas, though, he was not so lucky. Staring right back at him was a rat. Somewhat small and malnourished looking, but a rat nonetheless, and too many borrowers had lost there lives to such creatures. The hungry being was momentarily frozen from the shock of his sudden appearance, but it would soon recover. Not giving himself time to think twice, Watson ran right back out into the open. The bean was still on the stairs, though coming down rapidly. The borrower hoped that that at least would deter the beast from perusing him. But then he still had the problem of the bean. 'Think, John!' He chastised himself, 'a place to hide...' Whipping around, he quickly surveyed the area. His darting eyes soon rested on a black duffel bag by the wall. Without wondering why it was even there in the first place, John ran strait for it. A pocket on the side was partially unzipped, allowing him just enough space to squeeze inside before the bean made its appearance. A soft, deep voice filled the dark space, rattling his bones. Ah, it was the younger Holmes, he had a nice voice. What was his name again? John couldn't quite remember. Most of what he said, the borrower couldn't understand because the bean was muttering to himself and the words were muffled by the bag. To John's unpleasant surprise, he felt the bag being lifted roughly, and swung through empty space. Oh no. Ohnoohnohnohnohno. This wasn't supposed to happen! Where did this bean think he was going?! It was the middle of the fricking night! WTF!?


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock was in a rotten mood. Everything that could go wrong seemed to go wrong in his life. School, home, friends, family, everything. Wrong. And so, persistently DULL.  
He had to get out.  
But running away was so inconvenient. How would he finish his experiments? No matter, he had other options. A visit with his friends for the weekend was the excuse he had given. His parents were so stupid. Anyone could tell that he didn't have friends. No, what he would really be doing for the next couple of days was spending time down by the docks in an old hotel. He would be spending the last of his allowance, but there he didn't have to worry about others looking at him funny. Plus, he really needed some ALONE time. And it seemed this was the only way to get it. So he packed a bag, told his parents goodbye, argued with his brother (who totally knew what he was up to), and then finally trudged down the stairs to leave. The fight had lasted for some time, and night had fallen without Sherlock realizing. Mumbling something about his brother's insensitivity, the younger Holmes bent over to pick up his duffle bag. Slinging it over one shoulder, he promptly walked out the door without looking back...


	3. Chapter 3

Traveling in the outside pocket of an old duffel bag was uncomfortable, to say the least. It was a strange sensation, being cramped in a tight space, yet at the same time swinging through the air as the person carrying you was walking much too fast. Yeah, now he was getting motion sick. As John thought about his predicament, he realized just how completely screwed he was. He had no idea where he was going or how long he would be gone. Not to mention when he got there he would have no idea where to get food an water. He was headed straight into the unknown and, to a borrower, the unknown was deadly. Why, then, instead of fear, did he feel excitement boil up inside of him? Before he could answer this question, his thought process was suddenly interrupted when the Holmes boy stopped quite abruptly. Though he was left completely in the dark, John could still hear, although faintly. Apparently, the bean had run into some others, and the conversation that gradually unfolded left Watson with a feeling of absolute dread...


	4. Chapter 4

'Oh, bollocks,' Sherlock was not amused. He had only gotten as far as the next block when he met trouble. A group of teenage boys were loitering by the street, and they had spotted him. Keeping a neutral expression, Sherlock kept walking. Because, when he met trouble, he always headed straight into it without flinching.  
"Well, if it isn't Holmes, the freak."  
Oh no, he recognized them now, they were kids from Sherlock's school, and they were definitely not nice. Was "freak" really the best they could come up with? He ignored them, continuing through with his head held high. However, two of them blocked his way, and the original speaker confronted him with a smirk pasted on his face.  
"Hold on there, Sherlly, it's rude to ignore people. An attitude like that's bound to get you in trouble."  
Sherlock sniffed in distaste, but did not reply.  
"Oh, come on," the other boy laughed, inciting cruel snickers from the rest of the gang. "You're no fun like that. Say somethin' already."  
With a small sigh of resignation, Sherlock turned towards his tormentor and fixed him with a look brimming with loathing.  
"I have no desire to speak with a lowlife ignoramus and his lackeys. Such an act would be demeaning, to say the least, and to spend more time in your company then absolutely necessary is not a scenario I hope to entertain."  
The boy stared at him for a moment. Sherlock could practically see the gears shifting in his head. "Ignor- what now? Wait, did you just call me stupid?!"  
Rolling his eyes, Sherlock retorted, "if that's all you got from that then no, I'm calling you a complete and utter buffoon, an idiot, and a prat."  
Fast as a whip, his fist connected with Sherlock's jaw. Ouch! But, then again, he had been expecting that. Stumbling back, Sherlock was stopped from a further retreat by someone behind him. The others had formed a circle and were now goading them on with laughter and jeers. The one whom he had insulted grinned wickedly at him.  
'It won't last,' Sherlock thought, 'they'll get bored soon and beat me together. Well, nothing for it then.'  
Someone wrenched the duffle bag from his shoulder and tossed it to the side. Straitening his jacket, Sherlock took a fighting stance, hands raised, knees bent. The others laughed.  
"Come on then, fairy. I dare you!"  
Sherlock Holmes, however, though he might walk into trouble without hesitation, did not succumb to taunting. He waited for the other to make the first move. Unfortunately for him, though, the rest of them did not want to wait around. He was roughly shoved from behind by a particularly beefy character, plunging him forward into the range of his enemy's swing...


	5. Chapter 5

"I have no desire to speak with a lowlife ignoramus and his lackeys. Such an act would be demeaning, to say the least, and to spend more time in your company then absolutely necessary is not a scenario I hope to entertain."  
When John heard these words, muffled though they were, he couldn't help but be impressed. The bean had guts, he'd give him that. However, these thoughts quickly evaporated as he became increasingly worried about his personal safety.  
'No, no! You idiot!' He thought, 'just get out of here quickly before-'  
but it was too late.  
He was jostled around as the duffle bag was pulled away and thrown aside. Holding his breathe as he fell through the air, John literally thought he was going to die. He hit the ground with a horrible, gut-wrenching jerk. The rough fabric of the bag pressed against his body and the darkness overwhelmed him. Struggling against the sudden increase in pressure, John tried to breathe again. He took in deep lungfuls of air but didn't feel like he was getting any oxygen. Panic set in. 'I'm going to suffocate in here!' He pushed his way through to the edge where he knew it was still slightly unzipped. This was difficult, though, because the bag had landed slightly on its side, hence the extra weight on John in the first place. When he finally reached the area, a wave of relief washed over him. However, his trembling hands could not at first locate the opening. Getting more and more desperate, his heart pounding violently, John felt an unpleasant heaviness fall upon his limbs. Just when he was about to give up all hope, his hand broke through into empty space. With a sob of relief he quickly worked his whole body out. Collapsing on the hard concrete, John simply remained gasping there for a moment, like a fish out of water. Gradually, the panic eased and he shivered from the cold night air. He sat up slowly, becoming aware of the sounds of a struggle all too close to him. Peering around the black bag, John took a moment to absorb what was happening.  
The Holmes boy was not doing so well.  
The bullies laughed and jeered, toying with him. He fought back, though. Perhaps if there had been fewer he could have stood a chance, but with so many his efforts seemed pathetic. John could feel the vibrations of their footsteps through the earth. It was terrifying.  
One boy got behind him and kicked his legs so he fell to his knees. The rest quickly took advantage of this and overwhelmed him. John watched as the other boy was dragged further and further underneath the merciless gang until he could no longer see him.  
He watched until he couldn't watch anymore.  
Until he realized that he had to do something. There wasn't a single thing that he wanted to do more.  
So, without a second thought, John Watson stuck his thumb and forefinger in his mouth and whistled as long and as loud as he could. In fact, it was a longer and louder whistle than he even thought he was capable of doing...


	6. Chapter 6

The band of bullies froze, some in mid-kick, listening dumbly as the piercing sound faded and finally died.  
"What the hell was that?" The question shattered the shocked atmosphere.  
"Crap! It's the cops! Let's get outa here quick."  
And so they dispersed, some parting with a last halfhearted kick at Sherlock's still form. The last to leave was the one who had started it. He looked down on Sherlock with malice in his eyes.  
"Tch! Coppers gotta ruin every damn thing." He muttered before hurrying after the others.  
Silence descended as their footsteps faded away.  
Watson sat there, stunned by what he himself had done. The still night air chilled him to the bone. His heart was racing so fast he had to force himself to take deep breaths in order to calm down.  
'Well, that was...new.' He thought incredulously.  
At least now all he had to do was get back in the duffle bag and wait for the guy to go back home. Surely, after a beating like that, the bean would have the sense to give up on his escapade or whatever it was he was doing out here.  
But he didn't move.  
John waited, but the boy showed no sign of stirring.  
'Crap, is he dead?' The borrower wondered. 'That would be just my rotten luck!'  
Despite his better judgement, John felt the urge to approach the still giant. Staring at the lifeless-looking body awoke a strange feeling within him. Was it pity? Not exactly. It was more like...a need. The kid was an idiot, but then again, so was John. He didn't know why, but he felt a need to help him.  
With a heavy sigh of "ohmani'mgonnaregretthisinthenearfuture," the borrower steeled his courage and stepped forward into what he was sure was going to be the biggest mistake of his short life.

Heading straight towards a thing he was told since he was young never to approach under any circumstances made John nervous, which was not a feeling he experienced often. Honestly, he didn't like it one bit. However, he had already made his mind up, turning back now seemed impossible. As he got closer, Watson noticed the steady rising and falling of the bean's body and quickened his pace. At least the Holmes boy was breathing, that was certainly something. John himself was a bit out of breath as he finally reached the giant's massive head. With a frown, he tried to think of what exactly he had planned to do at this point. The bean was lying slightly curled in on himself, one arm covered his head in a defensive position. Because of this, John could not see his face. With a heart full of trepidation, the young borrower took a step closer. Then another. And another. He could actually hear the bean breathing now. It was an unsettling, deep rumble, like a snoring dragon. Swallowing his fear, John stretched out a hand and, though every instinct screamed at him to stop, rested it on the giant's arm.  
For a moment nothing happened.  
A nervous sort of giggle escaped the borrower as relief flooded through his system. What had he expected? That the world would suddenly end? He had confirmed the bean was alive and there wasn't anything more he could do for him. He may as well return to the relative safety of the duffle bag and wait for the giant to recover on his own. Whatever insanity had possessed John to go so far had suddenly deserted him, leaving him feeling quite drained. Just as he made up his mind to retreat, however, the bean stirred. Muttering in a deep and somewhat muffled voice, John only caught a few of his words;  
"...obviously not the police..."  
That was all it took to freeze the borrower on the spot.  
Gradually, Sherlock's voice grew stronger as consciousness was restored to him. "The sound was too high for a police whistle, also a bit long and only sounded once. The tone and pitch of it...likely human without artificial aid..."  
The giant shifted, startling Watson. He took a few hurried steps back as the bean was making to rise.  
"But the question remains...who? And for what purpose? If they were trying to help me, then...where...?" The bean began to look around, searching for the answers to these questions.  
Every muscle in John's tiny body tensed. He wanted to run. He itched to flee, just to start running and not look back. But it was far too late for that now. All he could do now was hope for a miracle.  
When the giant's head turned his way, the borrower felt like he was going to burn from the inside out. With fear and trembling he looked up to meet the other's eyes. Those eyes, they were shockingly blue and wide with surprise. His expression of slack jawed amazement would have been comical had it not been so massive. As it was, massive and covered in bruises, it was like something out of a horror story. John watched as the shock turned to disbelief. The bean's hands twitched as though he were unsure what to do with them. Figuring that he should probably do something before things got out of hand, or rather before John ended up crushed IN one of the giant's hands, the borrower spoke up.  
"You look bloody awful."


	7. Chapter 7

"You look bloody awful."  
To his own surprise, he said this with a fair amount of force, and most likely louder than was necessary. The bean gasped in shock, running a hand through his hair in disbelief. Idiot! What was he thinking? Saying something like that to a giant!? John swallowed nervously, completely unsure of what to do.  
"Eh, that is, wh-what I meant was-"  
His awkwardness was interrupted, however, by a very large hand reaching for him all too quickly.  
"W-W-Wait!" He practically squeaked, screwing his eyes shut in terror as an uncomfortable warmth enveloped him. But nothing else happened. He was not lifted into the air or completely crushed by a sudden force. Instead, something pressed gently against his chest, over his heart, which was pounding away like a bass drum. He opened his eyes to find that it was the bean's thumb.  
"You're really real." The voice was soft and full of amazement. John looked up cautiously. The boys expression was just a bit too curious for his liking.  
"Of course I'm real! I could've told you that, idiot!"  
He hadn't meant to add that last part, but John was almost past the point of caring. If the bean was going to do something terrible, he had better do it faster or the suspense alone would kill him!  
"S-sorry," the hand was suddenly withdrawn, "I thought I might be hallucinating. My head got hit pretty hard."  
These words shocked the borrower more than anything. A bean was apologizing to him. And after he called him an idiot nonetheless. Furthermore, he hadn't considered this particular bean to be the type to apologize to anyone. Perhaps his head was more rattled than he had first imagined.  
"I saw that." John said darkly, "those guys beating you up." He added at the bean's questioning look.  
"Then it was you," the giant remarked. Now it was John's turn to look confused. "You made that whistle sound and scared them off."  
"How do you figure that?"  
"There is no one else here, thus it couldn't have been the police. Such a unique and high sound had to have come from something small, yet it was definitely organic, so not a toy whistle. You fit the criteria, although, it was longer and louder than I would have imagined your lungs capable of."  
"Oh, that was good, though I can assure you that my lungs are plenty capable."  
Sherlock brushed it off, but John saw his mouth form something of a small smile. The bean must not be used to much praise of any kind.  
"That was a simple deduction. No, the only thing I don't understand is why?"  
The boy's look changed, his fiercely blue eyes bore into John. He felt as though their very gaze pierced him through with a determined kind of curiosity.  
It made the borrower angry.  
How dare this bean look at him as though he were some specimen under a microscope. How dare he, especially knowing how John saved his ass. Then again, he had refrained from any kind of unwanted contact, mostly, and was simply asking a perfectly reasonable question.  
So John tried to get his whirling emotions under control before responding.  
"Common decency, maybe." Despite his best efforts, a fair amount of attitude mixed with his tone.  
The bean's mouth curved in an amused smile. "But that still doesn't explain why you would put yourself in danger of being discovered by approaching me, even in my unconscious state."  
John felt himself blush. Really, he knew that he had no good reason for what he had done. "C'mon, you could've been dead for all I knew."  
"So you were worried for my well being," John's blush went deeper and he hoped to God the bean couldn't see it. "I find it hard to believe that you would risk your life for that as there wouldn't be much you could do in a medical emergency. In any case, your actions suggest you need me for something."  
"Stupid! What could I possibly need a bean for?" Though he hated to admit it, even to himself, John did need him. He had no idea where he was and the only way he was getting back in one piece was with the bean's help.  
"A what? Bean?"  
"You know, a human bean. It's what you are, or at least, what we call you."  
"We?"  
Crap! John hadn't meant to say that. He was becoming all to comfortable in this situation. It wouldn't do for him to reveal any more.  
His silence, however, was all Sherlock needed.  
"I see," he thought a moment. "You came with me, in my bag, so you need me to get you back home."  
John didn't say anything, but the surprise showed clearly in his face. A feeling of dread was growing in the pit of his stomach like a black hole. Things were not going well for him. The poor borrower was quickly losing all sense control and he didn't like it one bit.  
"If that's the case," Sherlock stood, though a little unsteadily, and retrieved his bag, setting it down in front of the borrower, "You should come with me."  
"I beg your pardon!?"  
"It's dangerous out here." Sherlock explained.  
"How do I know this isn't some sort of trap?"  
"You helped me out, the least I can do is return the favor."  
Considering his options, John realized that he didn't have much of a choice. It only took him a moment to make up his mind. "I don't even know your name, though." He remarked half-jokingly.  
"It's Sherlock Holmes, I'm surprised you didn't already know that. We live in the same house after all."  
John replied as he clambered back inside the duffle bag pocket, "To be honest, I only know you people as the Holmes family. I never paid much attention to you or your affairs."  
"I see...and your name?" Sherlock asked in return.  
"John, John Watson."  
"A pleasure to meet you, John." It looked like Sherlock tried to smile, but his face was badly swollen, and the result was not exactly pretty.  
"We should probably get back soon, you're not looking so good." Not that John was worried about him, he just really needed to get home.  
"Not yet," Sherlock replied, "I'm not going back there just yet."  
"Huh? Wait a second, then where are you taking me?!" This was certainly an unwelcome twist for the unlucky borrower.  
"Somewhere we can talk more. I've still got a lot of questions for you. Don't worry, we'll go home in the morning."  
"That doesn't make me feel any better," grumbled John. The bean, he supposed he should call him Sherlock now, was certainly not what he was expecting, but that didn't mean he wasn't dangerous. John sighed in exasperation, wondering what on earth would become of him.


	8. Chapter 8

The rest of the night was spent in an old hotel, on an old street, in a room that smelled of old fish. Sherlock refused to return home until morning arrived. John, however, refused to speak with him until he received medical attention. Luckily, there was a first aid kit in the bathroom, though the borrower was skeptical as to the usefulness of a first aid kit found in a filthy hotel bathroom. As the bean patched himself up, John once again extracted himself from the large bag and took in his surroundings in all their dilapidated glory. He was standing on the bed, which was large by his standards but he estimated to be quite small for a fully grown giant. Across from it was the bathroom, from which he could hear his new and problematic acquaintance. To his left, on the other side of the room, was a window. Through the dirt-clouded glass he could see the faint glow of street lamps in the dark. The only other source of light came from the bathroom and a single, overhead bulb that shifted slightly when the fat moths bumbled into it. He had some time to himself now, but what to do? If he didn't handle this situation right, he could put his family in danger. Not to mention the entire borrower community that he was sure existed somewhere. Peering over the edge of the bed, John considered escape and his chances of survival. It seemed the right thing to do. If he just climbed down, took shelter in whatever nooks and crannys he could find, and made it out somehow, he could make a new life elsewhere. The dangers, he was sure, would be extraordinary, but he was as capable as any. John was confident in his abilities as a borrower. So why didn't he go? As John stared at the floor below him, a powerful feeling swept him up and held him in an iron grip. It was fear. Not of giants or pitfalls or other dangers of the world that constantly surrounded him. John did not fear peril as many did. No, this crippling feeling that froze him in his tracks was loneliness. If he left now he would be on his own. Most likely for the rest of his life. He had no idea where he was and so had no way of getting home. Suddenly a wave of sorrow crashed into him. He missed his parents, his sister. Little Harry, she would miss him. His mother and father would never know what had become of him. His moment of indecision was quickly shattered by the entrance of Sherlock. The bean walked into the room, pressing a cold pack onto his shoulder. Having removed his shirt and jacket to better treat his various cuts and bruises, Sherlock's upper body was now mostly patches and bandages. With a sigh, he tossed his torn and bloodied shirt into a bin that was sitting in the corner. John was so out of it that it took him a moment to realize that Sherlock was staring down at him with a concerned look on his large features.  
"Are you alright? You seem rather pale."  
Taken aback by these sudden comments, the poor, overwhelmed young borrower barely managed to stutter an answer; "I-it's nothing."  
Sherlock raised an eyebrow doubtfully at this but didn't press the matter.  
Doing his best to pull himself together, John mentally prepared himself for the worst. He was unsure as to what that might be, this Sherlock bean was certainly unpredictable, but whatever happened, he knew it would be bad. However, it was unavoidable now, so John convinced himself that he would face the consequences of his actions without flinching. Despite this resolve, when the bean climbed onto the foot of the bed and sat across from him, he couldn't help but take a few stumbling steps back. When Sherlock made no other move, however, John gathered up the courage to meet his gaze.  
For some time, neither stirred. Sherlock quietly contemplated the puzzle before him. Calm and collected, his gaze was somewhat softened by the many thoughts running through his head. John, on the other hand, could not keep his heart from pounding. He eyed Sherlock with suspicion and mistrust. Though he refused to let fear show in his face, his hands trembled.  
Finally, Sherlock broke the silence, "I thought you might not be here when I got back."  
Swallowing hard in an attempt to rid himself of his nervousness, John replied, "I was going to leave. I suppose I just wasn't fast enough."  
Sherlock smirked knowingly to himself, "No, that's a lie. You didn't escape because you could not. From what I can tell of your character, you fear being alone more than anything, yes? Just now you were considering it when I entered and had gone pale at the thought, and in your hesitation it became too late. But that is not what I meant."  
John blinked, surprised by this insight. It was all true, though unnerving how the bean managed to figure it out. The borrower took particular offense, however, at Sherlock's use of the word "escape," it did not seem to bode well for him.  
Before he could get a word in, Sherlock continued, "I was afraid you would end up being nothing more than a figment of my troubled mind."  
Would this bean never cease to amaze him? "You're still hung up on that?"  
"It's not outside the realm of possibilities." Sherlock stated a bit defensively, "I recently sustained some rather severe head injuries. This might well produce hallucinations." As he said this, Sherlock felt his bandaged skull gingerly, wincing at the memory.  
"Yeah, I was there."  
This remark brought a frown to the bean's face. Returning his attention to the impossibly small figure, he saw sorrow and genuine concern there. This surprised him. It was not often anyone cared about him at all. At least not openly. But there was something open and simple to John's character that made Sherlock feel...safe, for lack of a better term. He no longer felt as though he had to hide his own personality.  
"I suppose you were. How is it that you came to be there in the first place?"  
John shrugged, "bad luck, pure and simple."  
Some rather awkward silence passed after that. Though this was not a bad thing as the sheer awkwardness helped to ease some of John's panic.  
"Ummmm, so...how exactly do you do that?" He finally ventured.  
"Eh? Do what?"  
"You know, the whole reading minds trick"  
"Oh, that, it's simple really. And hardly a trick, more like a game."  
"A game? How so?"  
"Well, only so much as it amuses me. It's actually deduction, anyone could see the things I see and, with a little thought, come to the same conclusions. The trouble is, they do not. And so I am left to uncover the darkest secrets of this world alone, a task for which I am perhaps too well suited."  
John was still skeptical, "Darkest secrets? I'll admit that you were right in your guesses about me, but don't you think that's a little pretentious?"  
"They were hardly guesses. And no, I am not overestimating my abilities in the slightest." Sherlock sounded quite miffed by John's question.  
"If you say so, man. I just think that there's only so much you can figure out about a person based on observation alone."  
"Is that a challenge?"  
"Hardly, just my humble opinion."  
Sherlock considered him a moment. "You live with your parents. Are not an only child. You have one sibling. You generally get on well with your parents but are a bit of an escapist. You don't like to stay cooped up in one place for long. Your recklessness-"  
"Okay, okay! I get the picture." John quickly interrupted, "That's very impressive. Though I still have no idea how you come to these conclusions."  
"When you've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." *  
"I-I see," stuttered John, not being prepared for such a thought provoking sentence.  
Suddenly, Sherlock seemed somewhat embarrassed, "if you don't mind my asking, what's it like?"  
"Eh?" John had absolutely no clue what he was talking about.  
"Being so small, I mean," the bean was definitely embarrassed now, but also extremely curious at the same time.  
"Well, everything's really big for starters," he answered half-jokingly. However, it was apparent by the look on his face that Sherlock was not letting this go until he had more information. With a small sigh, John quickly expanded, "it's rough, as you might imagine. We have to rely on people like you for food and shelter. Everything we need, actually. But at the same time, you are our biggest threat. Living with such a contradiction is confusing at best. Although, there are some who choose to travel instead. However, for them danger is around every corner. And one wrong move means the end of you. So yeah, life is difficult, what else is new?" He shrugged.  
"That must be hard."  
Was John entirely mistaken, or was that pity in the bean's eyes?  
"I think it's better," he stated with conviction. At Sherlock's questioning look, he elaborated, "the way we live, it's better. I like my life and I'm proud of my heritage. It's a cruel world out there, but when has that ever stopped anybody? Well it certainly isn't going to slow me down, and I can tell you that one of these days I'm going to do something so incredibly amazing that no borrower has ever dared to do before."  
"Oh? And what might that be?"  
"I'm still working on ideas." John conceded.  
"I suppose talking to a giant is something no other borrower has done."  
"In this day an age, I would imagine so."  
"I suppose it would be catastrophic if word were to get out of your existence."  
John did not answer. He didn't need to.  
"I'll keep your secret. You have nothing to fear on that account."  
Despite his better judgement, John believed him. After that the conversation took a lighter turn. No matter how many topics they exhausted, however, they always found more to talk about. For hours upon hours, they stayed there, arguing, brainstorming, even laughing together. Gradually, John felt the tension slip away regardless of his efforts to remain alert. Although, one thought remained ever present in the back of his mind. He was playing with fire, just waiting for it to start burning.


	9. Chapter 9

Dawn broke over a mist covered London. Being so immersed in their conversation, John and Sherlock did not even realize morning had arrived until the light began to filter in through the window. For a long moment they stared at the hazy glow as it gradually filled the room.  
"I suppose we should leave soon." Sherlock observed nonchalantly.  
John didn't reply. He was feeling suddenly very much conflicted. Had he actually enjoyed talking to this bean? It seemed too extraordinary to believe. And yet here they were, emerging from a cocoon of engaging discussion by the arrival of daylight, a reminder of the reality around them. Had he really lost track of time?  
"My parents are going to be worried sick." He finally mumbled dejectedly.  
At first he thought Sherlock hadn't heard his quiet worry but the bean's thoughtful gaze upon him proved otherwise.  
With a grunt of affirmation, and a surprising burst of speed, Sherlock hopped off of the bed. The sudden shift in weight sent John sprawling.  
"Oy! At least warn me when you're about to dash off!" He exclaimed.  
"Sorry," a small hint of a smile around the bean's face convinced John of the opposite.  
With swift, determined movements, Sherlock unzipped his duffle bag and acquired a dark blue hoody from its depths. Before he had gotten it halfway over his head, however, there was a loud knock at the door.  
"Maintenance!" Shouted a female voice from the other side. The knob began to turn.  
Before John could even begin to panic, Sherlock had finished dressing and, before he could issue a word of protest, had snatched the borrower from his very exposed position on the bed.  
The door opened revealing a bright-eyed young woman pulling a trolley covered in cleaning equipment.  
"Excuse me, I am still here." Sherlock observed quite testily.  
"You paid for one night, my dear boy, now it's daytime. Off with you!" The lady was not at all put off by Sherlock's manner and hummed about her business.  
"My dear miss Hudson, what is it you actually do in these rooms? They are never clean."  
She shrugged, "they can be clean, when I have a mind to clean them."  
As this exchange took place, John found himself in a very uncomfortable position. He held his breath, trying not to think as the space he was inhabiting moved and shifted unsettlingly. What he wouldn't give to be back on solid ground.  
As fast as he could, while at the same time being extremely careful, Sherlock grabbed his bag and left the hotel. When they were quite clear of the place, he felt a sudden pain in the palm of his hand. He quickly moved his arm around to see what was the matter.  
John felt like he was suffocating. This was the single most unpleasant experience of his young life. Sherlock's quick movements were enough to make him lose his supper, if he had eaten anything recently. Therefore, It was such a relief when he felt the cool morning air. With a great deal of concentration and effort, his body was having difficulty cooperating, John moved his hand until he felt Sherlock's. Then, with as much force as he could muster, he pinched the bean hard. He had planned to yell at him. Indeed, the little borrower was fuming, uncomfortable, and, worst of all, afraid. He was well within his rights to yell. But, being once again face-to-face with the bean, he was speechless. His body shook uncontrollably.  
'Damn,' he thought fiercely. 'Damn this! My body-why am I so helpless?'  
His dark thoughts were interrupted by Sherlock speaking.  
"Sorry about that. I'm afraid Miss Hudson has a tendency to worry. She only came to that room to check on me."  
John took a deep breath, "Sherlock-"  
"She's harmless, really. Just something of a busybody."  
"Sherlock!"  
His shout stopped the bean in his tracks.  
"I'd rather not..." John's voice trailed off. He wasn't exactly sure what to say and he felt suddenly overwhelmed by exhaustion.  
Looking at his newfound friend, Sherlock realized just how worn out he was. He also noticed how uncomfortable he seemed in his hand. Understanding the problem, he considered a moment before gently placing the borrower in pocket of his hoody.  
Almost immediately, John fell into a deep slumber. More tired than he ever remembered being, he did not dream, but simply drifted in a sea of black nothingness. In this manner, John rested, and he would not wake up until many hours had passed.


	10. Chapter 10

While John slept, he had a dream. Well, more like a nightmare. In this otherworldly realm, he dreamt that he was a human bean. At first, it wasn't so bad. He stood tall amongst the buildings of an empty city. It was old and grey, silent, abandoned. For while he wandered the streets, searching for something. He wasn't sure what, just that he had to find it. Gradually, his quest became more frantic. He ran. Looking everywhere but finding nothing. Where was it? It had to be here, right? Still, he had no idea what he was even trying so desperately hard to find. The buildings towered above him, bearing down ominously. It was getting so dark. The city was getting bigger. Or was he shrinking? John didn't know. Either way, he realized that things were quickly turning from bad to worse. And he still had to find it!  
Things began to creep from the shadows. Twisting shapes, low noises, and the stench of decay filled his senses. It was becoming harder to move. He felt like he couldn't breathe. A single dark figure dogged his every move. Around each corner, every time he looked over his shoulder it would be there. Just standing.  
No, not yet. This couldn't end yet. No matter what he wouldn't be caught by that thing. Not until he found it...  
John came to a hole in a wall. It was so dark that he couldn't see what waited inside. Despite his better judgment, he found himself entering. It was almost as if he was no longer in control of his body. The hole got smaller when he approached it, however. He had to get on his hands and knees and crawl before he would fit. Almost immediately, his eyes adjusted and he found himself in a small room. It was empty at first, and unsettlingly familiar. John tried to stand, but his efforts to rise proved futile, so he remained where he was on the floor. When he had resigned himself to his predicament, John noticed something that wasn't there before. In the middle of the room was a box. A plain, unmarked, white box. His eyes grew wide. That was it! What he had been searching for all this time. It was right in front of him.  
But John still couldn't move.  
He was stuck on his knees, frozen. He watched in nameless horror as the tall dark figure flickered into appearance. It stood over him, staring. Where its face should have been was nothing but a black void. John felt an enormous crushing pressure bear down on him. Harder and harder it pressed until the room shook and he felt his insides turn to jelly and every single bone disintegrate.  
The last thing he saw was the precious box become enveloped in nothingness.

John gasped and sat bolt upright. Breathing hard, he looking around frantically. It took his panicked brain a while to realize where he was. He had been lying on the hard, wooden surface of a desk. Sherlock's desk, to be exact. He was in the young bean's room, John recognized it from the many times he had explored there. If he remembered correctly, there was a hidden way back into the walls that was accessible from this very desk. There was no sign of Sherlock.  
Taking several deep breaths, John tried to calm his racing heart. He was shaking quite badly and needed to get ahold of himself before he tried to move. The strange dream was already fading from his mind, as such things generally do, but he was still very much afraid.  
"What the hell," his voice was hoarse and quiet.  
As John took a moment to recover, he began to hear something that sounded like human voices. Indeed, his ears picked up muffled shouting coming from another area of the house. Somewhere, the bean's were fighting. This was unusual, as shouting matches were not actually common in the Holmes' household. The brothers might have the occasional scuffle, but they generally tolerated each other. This was different. Someone sounded extremely upset about something.  
John shook his head clear. Well, no matter, it certainly didn't concern him. Right now, he needed to get home. And with Sherlock elsewhere, now was the perfect time. He stood slowly and stretched a little. Moving to the back of the desk, John located the false panel in the wall. He pushed it open, but hesitated halfway through. For some reason, he felt bad just bailing on the bean. After all, he hadn't been a complete jerk. As crazy as it sounded, John knew he had enjoyed talking with Sherlock. Was it really too insane to think they could be...friends?  
Quickly, John disposed of that thought. It was laughable, utterly preposterous. Wasn't it? And yet here he was, hesitating between two worlds. So, despite his better judgement, John made up his mind. With determination, he strode back across the desk towards an open notebook. Formulas and diagrams of things he didn't understand we're scrawled all over the open pages. There was not any empty space to be seen on the cluttered mess. With a grunt of frustration, John grabbed the corner and lifted a single piece of paper, glad to see it was blank on the other side. After some amount of pushing and a good deal of trouble, the borrower managed to turn the page completely. It wasn't heavy, just inconveniently big. Next was the tricky part. After a bit of searching, he managed to find a pencil that had been sharpened so much it was only a stub and so was easier for him to handle. Carefully, he began to write. As large as he could, John scratched down three words. Only three.  
"I'll be back"  
And then he left.


	11. Chapter 11

John entered what was the sitting room of his small home. It felt like forever since he last stood there. Being back to what was normal made everything that had happened to him last night feel unreal and far away. He could hear the sounds of someone moving about in the kitchen. Most likely his mother. He glanced at the clock on the wall, which was actually a human bean wristwatch. It was a quarter to one. She would be fixing lunch now.  
Swallowing his nervousness, John moved further in. However, he stopped again when he reached the entrance to the kitchen. His mum stood with her back to him, busily preparing something that smelled absolutely heavenly. After hesitating once more, he finally spoke.  
"I'm home."  
She whirled around immediately. Her hand flew to her heart as she gasped in surprise. John smiled a bit nervously, feeling unusually awkward and out of place.  
"John? Oh, my dear boy!" His mother practically flew across the room to get to him. "All, night, John! You were gone all night long!" She sobbed into his shoulder.  
Unsure, he patted her shoulder gently.  
"It's alright, mum. I'm okay, see? Nothing happened."  
As he said this, he heard another person enter the room behind him. John knew before he even turned around that it was his father.  
"Oh, honey! Look who's back! Safe and sound, it's a miracle!"  
His mother released him long enough to let him turn and, sure enough, his father was now standing in the entryway looking quite exhausted. He stared at John in astonishment, causing the boy even greater discomfort. Before he could say anything, however, his father had crossed the room and enveloped both him and his mother in a veritable bear hug. John's dad was a large man (by borrower standards) which made it easy for him to embrace his son and wife, who was rather short, together.  
John realized then just how much he had missed them. Fighting back tears of relief, he hugged them back tight, wishing for a moment that they could stay like this forever.  
"Welcome back, John." His father finally managed.  
The boy thanked his lucky stars that he had survived the night. He had no desire to cause his parents any more grief.

Some time past before John's parents were able to relax again. Now the three of them sat at the table, silent, their food untouched. John had just finished explaining what had kept him so long. Not the truth, of course, but as good an excuse as he could come up with on short notice. He told them that he had been out, at one of his usual haunts, because he wasn't able to sleep that night. Though he hadn't meant to stay long, it seemed that he relaxed a little too much then and had actually managed to fall asleep where he shouldn't have. He only woke up recently and so came straight home.  
His father accepted this explanation after a moments thought. Nodding in understanding, he began to eat, signaling that the discussion was now over. His mother, however, looked at him a bit strangely. John considered the possibility that he might not have fooled her quite as completely.  
Suddenly feeling uncomfortable again, John changed the subject, "where's Harry?"  
"Oh, she's taking a nap at the moment. I'm afraid she hasn't been feeling very well of late." His mother answered, smiling at his concern.  
"Not feeling well? What's wrong with her?"  
"Nothing's wrong with me, John."  
The boy smiled at the voice, though it was a little hoarse. His younger sister, Harry, was standing in the doorway, looking bleary eyed and flushed.  
"Dear Harry, you shouldn't be up! What you need is rest, honey."  
The girl scowled at her mother's coddling.  
"I'm not a baby. And it's not like I have a horrible disease or anything. It's just a cold."  
His sister was eight, and small, comparatively speaking. She liked to pretend, however, to be older and was often in too much in a rush to grow up. Generally, though, she was a sweet girl and liked to help out as much as she could, mostly getting in the way of her elders.  
"Hey you," John greeted her cheerfully.  
She squinted at him suspiciously. "Hello, stranger. And just where have you been?"  
"Oh, you know me. Can't sit still for long."  
With a scowl that could start a fire, the little girl walked heavily to where John was sitting. Climbing into his lap, she curled up against his chest. He petted her hair gently, frowning in concern.  
"You're awfully feverish, Harry."  
"Mmmfine, just be quiet, will you."  
He looked up at his parents rather helplessly. His father simply shrugged and continued eating while his mother, on the other hand, gazed at the two in complete adoration.  
Trying to come up with a new topic, John turned to his father, "I heard shouting on the way back here. That's rather unusual, isn't it?"  
"I suppose..." His dad replied thoughtfully, "though I don't see how it's any of our business."  
"What was it about, then?"  
"The younger bean's parents were shouting at him for some reason. It was one hell of a row, I can tell you."  
His mother was shocked, "language, dear." She looked pointedly at Harry, who was actually fast asleep.  
"But what were they fighting about?" John's heart felt like it might burst with worry if he didn't find out soon.  
"Something along the lines of the boy sneaking out late. I honestly didn't pay it much mind. Why are you so bent on knowing anyhow?"  
This question caught John off guard.  
"W-well,"he stammered, "I suppose...I'm just kinda curious is all."  
His father gave him a strange look making John shift uncomfortably. Then he realized Harry was still in his lap.  
"I think I should take her back to her room now."  
"Oh, would you do that John? Thank you." His mother smiled.  
John avoided his father's piercing gaze as he stood, careful not to move his sister too much. It was a huge relief to be able to leave the kitchen. He had never before been so awkward with his parents.  
'John, you idiot!' He scolded himself, 'try not to be so obvious next time.'  
Quickly, he deposited his load on her bed. This turned out to be more of an effort than expected, however, as she clung to his neck like a barnacle. Once he had disentangled himself, he went to his own room. Throwing himself onto the welcoming sight of his homemade comforter, John tried to calm the utter chaos that was his mind. This proved to be ineffectual and he was soon up and pacing restlessly. After some time, he heard his father calling.  
"John? Could you help me with something?"  
"Coming!"  
Going immediately, he hoped to be able to distract himself. John had already decided to visit the young bean that night. Once everything was quiet, he would go. He had made a promise when he wrote that note. He had to keep it...


	12. Chapter 12

When night had fallen and everyone had settled into bed, John crept from the safety of the walls. He came out onto Sherlock's desk, where he'd left earlier. It was dark, but he could still see the notebook where he had scrawled those words. As he got a closer look, however, John noticed that the message he left there was gone. Examining the edge in the dim light, he saw bits of paper stuck in the spiral and one corner still attached. Someone had torn the page free. John wondered if it had been Sherlock. But why though? Sherlock didn't seem to be the type to do things for no reason. John shook his head, trying to clear it. Such thoughts were pointless and had no bearing on the here and now. Now, he had bigger things to worry about.  
John turned to where the bed was. Though it was dark, he could just make out a large lump resting there.  
Clearing his throat, he called out; "Pssst! Hey, Sherlock!" He realized then that trying to be loud and yet quiet at the same time was a horrible contradiction and very much impossible.  
However, that didn't matter, because the young Holmes was awake. Awake and waiting impatiently. Sherlock had leapt out of bed and was towering over the desk before John even had a chance to think.  
"Woah!" He stumbled back, tripped, and promptly fell on his rear in surprise.  
"John! It's really you? I was afraid you weren't coming back. I was even beginning to think I had just imagined you!."  
"Hey hey! Slow down a second!" John was rather perturbed by the boy's enthusiasm. "Yes, it's me. Just little old me. There's no reason to get so worked up about it!"  
Sherlock frowned. The borrower was looking up at him with widened terror. Though John tried to act tough, the young Holmes knew that he was scared. And, well, he honestly couldn't blame him.  
"You're still afraid of me. John, you can trust me. You know that, right?"  
"I am not afraid!" The words came out higher than he intended. John could tell Sherlock was not convinced. "It's just...the thing is...this isn't really allowed." How could he explain this better? "My kind...you're not supposed to know about us, at all. If my parents knew-"  
"Well, they're not going to find out, now, are they?"  
"I sure hope not."  
"Then there's nothing to worry about."  
Sherlock said this in a final sort of manner. As though there was nothing more to say on the subject. It was John now, however, who was not convinced.  
Before he could point out to the oversized bean that all secrets eventually are discovered, John was startled into silence by a very large hand coming towards him at an uncomfortable speed. He yelped in surprise but the hand, which belonged to Sherlock, stopped before it reached him.  
"Trust me John."  
Looking into those earnest blue-green eyes, the borrower knew what he had to do if he wanted this friendship to work out. With a sigh of resignation, he climbed aboard the upturned palm.  
"I'm here, aren't I?" He said in response to Sherlock's plea.  
The boy grinned and, as carefully as he could manage, lifted his impossibly small acquaintance into the air.  
John felt his heart plummet at the sensation. To be on a solid surface and yet feel suspended in space was disconcerting, to say the least. He screwed his eyes shut and tried to remain as still as possible.  
Sherlock moved over to the bed and sat down. With his free hand, he flipped on his bedside lamp.  
John opened his eyes, blinking in the sudden glare. As soon as he was close enough, he fairly tumbled out of Sherlock's hand onto the soft bed. Slowly releasing the breath he had been holding, the borrower sat still for a moment, not yet trusting his legs to be able to support him after that ordeal.  
"See, nothing to worry about." Sherlock sounded quite pleased with himself.  
John smiled shakily up at him, "yeah, sure."  
Frowning slightly, Sherlock decided he should probably change the subject. "So, what do you know about London?"  
A bit confused by this question, John wasn't sure how to answer. "Uuhhh, I live here..? That's where we live, right?"  
"Yes yes, but what do you /know/ about it? Where have you been? What sights have you seen?"  
"None, really. I've lived in this house all my life. Never been outside for more than a couple of hours. Why do you ask?" John was feeling rather exasperated now and so his last question sounded a little put out.  
It was just as Sherlock had expected. John's entire life had been spent in this house. He knew not of the wonders that lay just outside. And so, the rest of their time together was spent with Sherlock describing in great detail all the places he had ever been. John listened in wide-eyed fascination to each and every story, picturing himself in all these strange locations.  
What the two friends did not realize, however, was that back inside the walls, something was stirring.

Poor Harry was not sleeping well. Tossing and turning in a fevered dream, she whimpered pitifully. As she became more and more entangled in the sheets, her struggles intensified. Suddenly, she awoke with a bump as her movements carried her off of her bed and onto the floor.  
"Hhmmmmnn," she moaned, rubbing the sleep from her drooping eyes.  
Glancing around, she realized with relief where she was. Still home. It had only been a dream. Harry shivered, suddenly quite cold. Gathering up her blankets, she walked out into the sitting room. The clock on the wall said half past two. It was rather early. No one would be up. The little girl did not, however, wish to return to her own dark and empty room. Instead she turned towards her brother's, thinking he wouldn't mind if she stayed there until a more decent hour came around.  
Harry gently pushed the door, which was already slightly ajar, open. It creaked quietly on its hinges, adding to the already spooky atmosphere. She shuffled over to the bed, noticing almost immediately that something was not right. John was not there. Her big brother's bed was empty.  
She sighed. It was too early in the morning to wonder about. So, little Harry, too tired to turn back, climbed into the lonely bed anyway. She was asleep again almost at once, and did not have another dream.  
When John returned, not too long afterwards, he found quite the surprise. His little sister curled up on his bed, sleeping peacefully. With a small smile he carefully moved her back to her own room. Normally, he wouldn't mind just curling up next to her, but with her fever he did not think that wise.  
With a final yawn, John went to bed and slept the next few hours away, dreaming of distant and impossible places...


	13. Chapter 13

The next few days passed as blur for John. The Watson's were expecting company! They had received word via homing butterfly that his mother's brother was going to pay them a visit. This threw his family into a cleaning and preparatory frenzy. His parents and even Harry, who was recovering from her fever quite nicely, were constantly buzzing around the house fixing things up. The atmosphere practically hummed with excitement.

Quite frankly, John was excited too, he had never met any other borrower before. He just didn't understand why they had to scour the house from top to bottom. Honestly, how much could the man care about the state of their home? His eagerness was also somewhat quelled by the fact that he was so busy he hadn't been able to visit Sherlock again since the last time. Hopefully the bean wasn't getting too worked up.

Sherlock was feeling agitated. And afraid. He didn't know what he would do if John suddenly stopped visiting. For the first time in a long while, Sherlock had felt like his days wouldn't suck quite as badly as they used to. Having found someone with whom he could talk and not feel like he was being judged as a freak was a new experience for him. He did not want to lose that. If he did, Sherlock didn't think he could bear it. But it seemed like that was going to happen anyway. He had not seen John for a few days. He was starting to wonder if he would ever see him again.

Shaking his head, the boy attempted to refocus his attention on the homework before him. But his eyes kept straying back to that spot on his desk. The spot where the cleverly concealed entrance into the walls was. The place he wanted to, but could not, go. It seemed he was going to have to take matters into his own hands.

A whole week passed and John still was not able to visit Sherlock. However, the initial excitement over the unusual circumstances of expecting a visitor had worn off, and it seemed his family had calmed considerably. The opportunity would soon arise, he just had to keep an eye out for it.

Little Harry, meanwhile, noticed something strange as that week progressed. Her brother seemed distracted and distant. Like he constantly had something on his mind, which was not like him. He went about his chores half-heartedly and she frequently caught him staring off into space with an intense frown upon his features. Often, he was startled by the smallest things. Fidgeting, and shifting uncomfortably, John could not stand still anymore. Well, he had always been energetic, Harry reasoned, but this was different. It was not a happy kind of energy like she was used to seeing in him, this was agitation and nervousness. Two things she had never associated with him before. Perhaps the most troubling thing of all, though, was his obsession with leaving. He was constantly trying to sneak away, with no one noticing. Which was ridiculous because he had never tried to hide his comings and goings before. Whenever she, or either of their parents, caught him, he looked guilty.

He was keeping some kind of secret, Harry realized. As her strength returned, she was determined to find out what.

At long last, the moment arrived. John's parents and Harry had gone to bed early on the eighth day of cleaning. Now he could finally slip away. As John crept through the dark living space, he bumped right into the small block they used as a coffee table. John had to cover his mouth with one hand to keep from crying out. It wasn't a terribly loud noise, but it was enough to make him hold his breath for a long moment, just to be sure. When he was satisfied he hadn't disturbed anyone, John continued. However, he was thoroughly unaware of a small figure following silently after him.

Harry had awoken to a sudden thump in the night, followed by a muffled cry. Creeping out of bed, she went to take a look. Harry realized it was her brother as soon as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. He was going outside.

Now what on earth would he be doing out on a night like this, she wondered. Her little heart full of determination, Harry followed stealthily behind.

Creeping out onto the desk, John glanced around. He was slightly startled when he noticed a dark, hulking form above him. The bean had fallen asleep at his work space, papers strewn about underneath him. A dull pencil rested in his giant hand not three feet away from the borrower. John breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. He needed to quit worrying so much. Confidently, he strode over to the hand, fascinating in its sheer enormity, and placed his own on top of it. John's tiny fingers could not even wrap around Sherlock's pinky, John tried to ignore this fact. With as much strength as he could muster, the borrow shook the giant hand. "Sherlock. Sherlock!" He hissed, trying to wake the sleeping boy.

The boy jerked, lifting his head and blinking owlishly, "Huh? Wh-wha 'appened?"

It took him a moment to notice John by his hand.

"Hey, you're here." Sherlock seemed stunned and something like guilt flashed in his eyes. But John did not notice.

"Yeah, sorry. I've been /really/ busy this week. I meant to come, but haven't had an chance until now." He quickly explained, hoping the bean would understand and not ask about it.

"No no no, it's fine. Really, no worries." Shrugging, Sherlock avoided his friend's eyes.

John frowned, this was unusual.

"Are you alright, Sherlock?"

"What, me? No, I'm fine. It's fine. Everything's fine." He thought for a long moment before realizing that John knew everything was definitely not fine. "Honestly, it's nothing I can't fix later."

John squinted up at him, not convinced. "Well, if you're sure…"

Sherlock quickly changed the subject after that. So, John decided to let it go. Whatever it was, it wasn't like he could do anything about it.

In the darkness within the walls, Harry was quite lost. She didn't know the tunnels as well as her brother and, unfortunately, had lost track of him in the dark. Not one to be easily scared, Harry was mostly just annoyed. If she could find something familiar, anything, it would put her back on track. Fuming silently at her botched tailing job, Harry did not at first notice the sound of voices. She froze. Cocking her head to the side, she listened intently. The voice was deep, but she could not make out any words. Her mind made up, Harry followed the sounds. Hoping they would lead her to somewhere she knew.

They had been barely talking for an hour before Sherlock tried, and failed miserably, to stifle an enormous yawn.

"Tired?" Watson grinned

"What gave it away?" Sherlock rubbed his eyes sleepily, stretching a bit with a groan.

"You know, I'll try to come back tomorrow during the day. That way you'll be more awake. I should probably be heading home anyways."

To his surprise, Sherlock nodded his head without a single protest. Usually he was disappointed to see the borrower go.

"Yes, that would probably be best, John. Right now, we need sleep." Sherlock intoned.

"Right…" After a moment of simply watching Sherlock suspiciously, John decided he'd better not argue.

With a mental shrug, Watson turned around and moved towards his exit.

"Well, see you tomorrow then, I guess." He threw a casual wave over his shoulder but entered the wall before he could see if Sherlock noticed.

John was lost in thought as he walked down the passageway. That is, until he saw her. Stopping dead in his tracks, John spotted someone standing there. Just standing. A little ways away from the opening John had just used.

It was Harry.

She was trembling and looking at him with fear and horror etched into her face.

"Harry?" John couldn't believe it. "Harry, is that you?"

"Wh-what have you d-done?"

Watson froze. "How long have you been standing there?"

She flinched at his change in tone. It was harsh and urgent. Highly stressed. Swallowing down the lump in her throat, she answered, "long enough."

John dragged a hand over his face. This was not good. "Okay, okay I know this looks bad-"

"Looks bad?" Harry's voice rose in disbelief.

"But! I can explain."

Crossing her arms, she raised an eyebrow at him, waiting. "Alright. Explain. Explain to me why- no, scratch that, HOW, you're suddenly all chummy with a- with a-"

"A bean," Watson completed.

"A BEAN!?"

"Shhhhhsshh!" Watson shushed her, closing the gap between them with quick strides. Really, Sherlock did not need to hear this. "Please, just, try to calm down."

"John, don't you dare." Her tone was warning, and if it had been any other little kid, John would have thought the threat funny. But he knew his sister. Even at her young age, she could be scary. "Don't you /dare/ tell me to calm down in this situation."

"I know I know, I'm sorry. Please, come back with me to the house and I will explain everything."

She did not look convinced.

"I promise, Harry. Trust me."

With an exasperated sigh, she consented, "fine, but it had better be good. And you had better tell me on the way or we might wake up mum and dad."

Relief washed over him and he gladly agreed to this compromise.

So, John filled the time it took them to get back with his story. The story of the past few weeks, the shortened version, obviously. Beginning with his fateful encounter with the rat, to the conversations in the run down hotel, right up to his surprise at seeing Harry. He explained it all. When at last they reached home, Harry stopped him before he went inside.

"Wait, John, I have to say something."

Worry burned inside his gut, but he nodded, ready to hear everything he knew he deserved.

"I don't know if what you did was…right? But, it's in the past now. There's nothing to be done, as far as I can see. From what you've told me about this Sherlock person, well, he seems like a good friend. I guess, what I'm trying to say is…I'm not going to tell mum and dad."

Whatever John had been expecting, it wasn't this. He was so surprised, he couldn't speak for a moment.

"But- but Harry! Is that…okay?"

She grinned up at him. "Don't worry. The only reason I'm not is because /you/ should. And you will. When the time is right. Right?"

Nodding energetically, John grinned back at her.

"So, it's a deal then?" She stuck a hand out, waiting for him to take it.

"Of course. Deal."

There hands had barely touched when John heard something from inside. It sounded like glass breaking.

Suddenly rigid, he strained his ears towards the door.

"John, what-"

"Shh!" He hissed, motioning for her to stay quiet.

John had no idea what it was, but something was filling him with an icy cold dread. He could faintly detect something like a soft scratching sound coming from inside their home. Whatever it was, it wasn't normal.

"Harry, stay close behind me, and don't make a sound."

She nodded silently.

Very slowly, he pushed the door open, hoping the single hinge would not squeak. Luckily, his mother had complained about that just the other day, so their father had adjusted it accordingly.

It was dark. A strange smell washed over him as he crept further into the living room. It was sort of musty and metallic. Like those coins he would find under the couch at times. Pennies, he believed they were called. Now why would their home smell like that?

Harry let out a small whimper. They had entered the kitchen area and things were definitely not right. There was a hole in the wall. Near the bottom. Through it John could see nothing but darkness. He reached out to feel the edge. Something had chewed its way through. On the ground were scratch marks and scuffs. It had made its way through the kitchen. A plate from an old dollhouse set was shattered on the floor. That had been his mother's favorite plate.

With bated breath, he followed the trail of scratches with his eyes. It led out into the hall. Harry clung to his arm as he followed it. It was leading them towards- towards-

Oh god.

The door to their parents' room was open. And the tracks led straight inside.

**AN: IM SO SORRY! I really didn't mean to cut it at a cliffhanger! But it was taking sooo long and I wanted to post it soooooooo badly! So here it is. And it is what it is. I hope you like :P**


	14. Chapter 14

**WARNING: this part contains depictions of death, violence, and gore. It could be considered disturbing for some. Please read at your own discretion. Have a wonderful day!**

The smell. That coppery smell was stronger now. Swallowing hard, John, with a trembling hand, gently pushed the half-open door. It swung inward, groaning just a little in protest. His eyes took a moment to adjust in the inky darkness. What he saw caused all feeling in his legs to disappear.

Blood.

It was on the walls. The floor. Everywhere.

In the middle of it all, on the bed, he could barely bring himself to look, were the mangled corpses of his parents. Tangled in the covers. He couldn't make them out very well. But, he didn't have to.

They were gone.

And that realization stole his breath away. Swaying on the spot, he might have collapsed right there in a dead faint, if it weren't for Harry.

Little Harry, he had almost forgotten about her.

She shook his arm, staring up at him with pleading eyes, "John… John! Please, John, what's happened? Why are they…" Her voice faltered, not wanting to continue. Tears spilled from her wide and frighten eyes. She fully understood the situation, she just didn't want to believe it.

Kneeling down to her level, John tried to speak. Just say something, anything, to comfort her. But the words wouldn't come. He couldn't even summon up any tears to shed. So instead, Harry cupped his face in her tiny hands, crying enough for the both of them.

Then John heard it. A muffled scratching. Coming from the sitting room, where they had come in.

Well, they wouldn't be leaving that way.

He wrapped Harry in his arms. His eyes swept over the pitch blackness behind them, but there was nothing. That he could see anyway.

"Hold tight to me," John whispered and Harry nodded. She placed her hands around his neck, squeezing hard. After he had adjusted her in his arms to where he was carrying her comfortably, John reached around the door with his free hand, careful not to look in the direction of the bodies. He grabbed his father's sword, an item fashioned from a pocket knife blade, off of its hook, then quickly moved the door to its original position. Unfortunately for him, however, the door made more noise closing than it had opening. He winced at the loud groaning sound.

"What- what's that?" Harry's voice trembled fearfully in his ear.

John was about to reassure her that it was just the door when he heard it too. The scratching again, only this time accompanied by a loud snuffling. And it was getting closer. Without another thought, John moved swiftly through the dark hall, heading for the back of their home. There was another entrance there, passed the storage room, that they could escape through.

Escape from this nightmare.

The sound still followed them, but he didn't dare look back to try and see what it was. They reached the storage room. The door was hanging wide open, the wood splintered. Something had forced its way in. Swallowing his fear, John stepped inside. What once was a neatly ordered and clean little room now resembled nothing more than a train wreck. The handmade shelves that had stood were now toppled over and mostly destroyed, the remains of their supplies strewn across the floor. All the food they had stored had obviously been devoured. By what, John dreaded to think.

He picked his way through the debris towards the other side. "oh, no no no no," John murmured. He reached the door, their way of escape, only to find it blocked by one of the shelves. Setting Harry down, John braced himself against the hard wood and pushed, trying to shift it. It wouldn't budge. He kept trying, though, until he heard it. The soft scratching sound. Scooping Harry up again, he hid in the darker shadows. Covering her mouth gently with one hand, he motioned for her to be silent. Harry nodded, her eyes wide in terror. Gripping the sword handle tight, John got into a position where he could see the way they had come into the storage room.

Then he saw it. A massive dark shape in the doorway. It was sniffing the air, swaying back and forth. If the light had been better, John would have seen the red stain covering its terrible maw and chest. Dripping from its teeth and claws. However, even though he couldn't see it, he could smell it. Copper. Blood.

It entered the room slowly, carefully. It probed the dark with its twitching nose. The rat, for that was what the beast was, knew something new had arrived. John, with a sickening dread, realized it was only a matter of time before it smelled them out. He returned to Harry's side.

"Listen to me, we are going to be fine. You hear me?" He whispered so softly he could barely hear himself, but she nodded her head in response. "Good-" They jumped at the sound of something toppling over as the rat pushed its way through the mess, searching for them. "Now, we're leaving this place, okay. We are gonna go and live somewhere else. And be happy, got it?" Her head bobbed again.

John quickly glanced around, making sure of the rat's position. It was almost to the blocked door. Now was their chance. He took a deep breath and Harry copied him. Then he picked her up once more, bracing himself for the next step.

"Ready?" One quick, decisive nod later John was bolting for the way out. He ran faster than he ever had before. So fast he almost thought they had quite left the rat behind. But, unfortunately, their luck was not that good. It wasn't long before he heard it scrambling behind them. Claws scraping the floor, trying to find purchase. John risked a glance over his shoulder. The creature was closing the gap between them much too quickly. They wouldn't make to the sitting room.

On a sudden inspiration, John took a sharp turn into the kitchen. The dark hole in the wall where the rat had gained entrance to their home was his only option now. Dropping down, John, covering Harry as much as he could, slid neatly into the opening, his momentum carrying him through. The rat, meanwhile, smacked bodily into the wall with a shrill squeak. It struggled to follow them, but it had eaten so much in such a short amount of time that it's stomach was too bloated to fit like it had before.

However, this would not hold it back for long.

Harry and John fell a short ways through the darkness. When they hit the ground, he was careful to shield Harry as much as possible. He felt his shoulder bruise and winced, but forced himself to move. Rolling to his feet, John scrambled back, aware that the rat could be close behind them. He looked up and saw its enormous form shoving against the opening, creating a terrible racket. Seeing they had some time, he took in their new surroundings. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, John saw there was a passage. Where it led he had no idea. But he didn't have much of a choice.

With a deep breath, he held Harry tight, and pressed on.

**AN: Helloo all! Thanks so much for reading. I'm going to try and make the next part nice and long again. So it might take a while, but I'll get it done! This part was supposed to be longer, but, I REALLY wanted to post it :P**


	15. Chapter 15

**AN: just want to take a moment and thank everyone who has taken the time to read my scribbles. You guys keep me going :)**

**Special thanks to hiddendreamer67, WingedKuriboh27, BadKristy13, goldacharmed, and everyone else who took the time to review. your kind words make me so happy!**

* * *

Suddenly, John stopped. He could hardly stand anymore, his breath came in short gasps and his legs trembled. Everything crashed over him like a tidal wave.

"John? John, what's wrong?" Harry murmured, waking up from his sudden change.

He had just enough will left to set her down on her feet before he collapsed. Gripping his stomach, John threw up on the floor, his body rebelling against the stress. Guilt gripped him in an iron vice, wracking his body with pain. Rocking back and forth, he sobbed brokenly.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I'm so so sorry."

Stunned and confused, Harry wasn't sure how to respond. She reached out a tentative hand, resting it on his shoulder.

"For what, John?"

"For not being there."

Then she understood. Of course. John was always one to blame himself for things.

"It wasn't your fault," Harry whispered.

"I should have been here. I could have saved them. I know I could've. If only I hadn't-" She leaned over him and wrapped him in a tight embrace, rubbing his back soothingly.

"It's okay. It's all gonna be okay now." She said this lie over and over again. Willing it to be true. Trying to fool herself as much as her brother. She didn't blame him. The thought had never even entered her head. But right now she was having trouble believing they were ever going to be okay again. Right now their future was as dark as the way before them.

After a minute, to the siblings it felt like ages, John's tears abated. He roughly scrubbed his eyes with his sleeve, sniffing loudly." he threw his arms up in helpless frustration, "I just don't know where we're supposed to go from here."

Silence fell over them as they contemplated their next move.

All of a sudden, Harry sat bolt upright, her face a mask of concentration. "We should get moving."

John sighed, "I realize that, but where are we even going? I don't know where we are or-"

"Just listen!" She hissed.

John froze, hearing the urgency in his sister's voice. Then his ears caught it. The scraping of claws on wood. The rat was catching up to them.

"Run!" He grabbed his little sister's hand and pulled her up with him. They took off together, no longer worried about where they were going. Anywhere that was far away was better than fine. Then a dim glow appeared up ahead. It grew brighter, and John dared to let a flicker of hope form in his chest. Was this their escape? As they drew closer, John realized that it was an air vent. They could use it to get out of the walls. Hopefully, the rat was not brave enough to follow them into the open. They were so close. Just a little further. But then another light appeared, and with it came a voice.

"STOP!"

So sudden and so forceful was this unexpected, guttural shout that it brought the siblings to a skidding halt. The second light was brighter and came from the darkness further down the tunnel. It moved and nearly blinded John as it passed over his face.

"Who are you?" The voice asked. It moved closer, pointing the light away from them. Now John could see clearly exactly what it was. It was another borrower. He was a man, sturdy and rough looking. A fierce scowl decorated his features as he studied them. He carried the pile of gear on his back as though it were nothing. The light he had with him looked like it had been cobbled together from what appeared to be miscellaneous odds and ends. John took this in all at once and would have stared longer but quickly remembered the urgency of their predicament.

"There's a rat after us!" he called urgently. The man was taken aback by this but soon recovered himself.

Shining his light down the path behind them, he spoke again, "you're the Watsons' kids?"

They nodded emphatically.

"Watch your step." He moved the light down to their feet, revealing something strange. A thin piece of thread stretched taunt across their path. With a gasp, John looked up and immediately grasped the big picture. It was a trap, and he and Harry had almost run straight into it. Dark and inconspicuous, it would be almost impossible to spot if it hadn't been pointed out to him. A million questions whirred through John's mind, but he did not have time to process them. Their new friend quickly ushered them over the tripwire. He led the way further down the passage, passed the vent, and into the shadows. To John's surprise, he stopped only a short distance away and dimmed the light his contraption was emanating.

"What are we doing?" John hissed. "We have to get out of here!"

The strange man slowly shook his head. "You need to rest," he reclined against the rough wall. "You're tired, and so is your sister."

John glanced down at Harry. She was panting heavily and her eyelids drooped from exhaustion. All at once, as though the events of the night were finally catching up to him physically, the young borrower felt the last of his strength drain away. He swayed on the spot, barely able to remain upright anymore. However, John was still uneasy and cast a nervous glance beck the way they came.

"Don't worry," the man's reassurance brought John's attention back the present. "Let's just see what happens."

With a deep breath, John sank to the floor, leaning his back against the wall. His numb fingers slowly began to relax their death-grip hold on his father's sword. The sword. He had practically forgotten he was even carrying it. 'I certainly put it to good use,' the sarcasm fairly dripped from this thought. Before his mind could pursue that train, however, Harry yawned. John yawned back as she shuffled towards him. Sinking into his lap, Harry leaned into his chest and promptly fell back to sleep. Her steady breathing filled the air, but John could not bring himself to relax.

"You're our uncle, uncle Rob, right?" He finally asked.

The man nodded once.

"You came here to visit."

Again, he simply nodded.

"I'm sorry."

This time he looked at John and shook his head. "You don't have to talk about it. I can guess."

Now John nodded, with tears in his eyes. He was grateful that their uncle didn't pressed the matter. Before he could say anything else though, John caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Whipping his head around he saw, once again, the rat. It emerged from the shadows, cautiously sniffling the air with its twitching nose. John shuddered. Something had to be severely wrong with the creature to make it pursue them so far. Especially since it had already eaten its fill only a few hours before. Almost subconsciously, John wrapped his arms tighter around his little sister. Protect Harry. That was the only thought in his mind as he glared in the animal's direction.

"Wait for it." His uncle muttered, mostly to himself. Another step and the rat's snout had brushed against the string. It all happened so fast John barely registered what happened. One moment, he was watching the creature creep closer, the next, a wall of black completely obliterated his view. The trap was sprung. And it had caught a rat. Shrieks and squeals emanated from within it as the animal desperately tried to escape. John wondered briefly if he should be feeling something. Happy, satisfied, relieved? After all, the thing that slaughtered his parents was now indisposed. But he didn't. All he felt was hollow. Then his uncle, Rob, silently offered to help him to his feet, and he accepted. Placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, Rob gave him a sad smile.

"Well, shall we move on then?" John only nodded.

* * *

The sun was rising. It's golden rays pierced through the early morning fog, leaving the world looking fresh and bright. John sat atop the roof of the Holmes household watching the world below him begin to stir. His uncle and Harry, who was wide awake now, were inspecting the shiny yellow model plane that their uncle had arrived in. And what they would all soon be leaving in. Despite their sad circumstances, Harry gazed at the craft in wide-eyed fascination and wonder. John smiled as he watched her hesitantly pet the side, as though afraid it might suddenly become alive and eat her up and yet she was still unable to resist touching it. But, he soon grew somber again. He had a decision to make. Though he already knew what the right thing to do was, John was nervous about it. More nervous than he ever remembered being.

At last, the conflict raging in his mind was settled. With a sigh, he gathered his resolve and approached the plane.

"Uncle Rob?" He began carefully.

"Hmm?" Was the simple reply.

"I need to go back. I- I forgot something. Back at the house. Something important."

His uncle raised an eyebrow, "well, if you want to go, I guess I can't really stop you. Just be careful."

John nodded and began moving away, but Harry grabbed his arm.

"John, I know what you're thinking and it's a bad idea." She whispered so Rob, who's attention was now back on his plane, would not hear.

"I don't know what you're talking about," John huffed. But it was clear he did have some idea.

"You're going to go see Sherlock. To say goodbye. Aren't you?"

John swallowed hard, trying to hide his nerves behind a grin, "yeah, but it'll be fine! Please don't worry. I'll be careful and I'll be back before you know it."

He tried to leave again, but was stopped once more, this time by the voice of his uncle, "you know, that trap back there, the one the rat got caught in, it seemed rather strange to me." He looked up from his work to make sure they were paying attention but then went strait back to it, "the way it was set up. Hidden. Whoever put it there was smart. It wasn't simple rats they were after."

He looked pointedly at John, who nodded, "like I said, I'll be careful." And with that, he was gone.

On his way back, John came to the place where the strange trap had been. It was gone. There was no trace of it, like it had never even been there. Had it all just been a dream? John was almost tempted to return home. Because, maybe that nightmare really wasn't real. Maybe his parents were waiting there for him. Breakfast on the table, a scolding for being out late, a laugh, Harry smiling. What if that was still real? He shook his head, focusing on the task at hand. Now that nothing was chasing him, John could examine the surroundings more carefully. He realized that he knew this place. He had passed through here many times during his little trips. With this knowledge in hand, John was confident he could get to where he was going without having to pass through his old home. Because he was all too aware of what was really waiting for him in that place. Nothing. And the reality of that nothing, left him feeling hollow inside. He pressed on, making his way through the walls. At last he reached a familiar exit and went through cautiously. John emerged onto Sherlock's desk, once again dwarfed by the sheer size of everything. He didn't see Sherlock anywhere.

"Should I… Leave a note?" He muttered to himself. John had wanted to speak with his friend face to face, but at the same time was relieved he wouldn't have to confront the boy. After all, Sherlock was not going to take what he had to say well.

So, John began to search around for a pen and paper. The desk was messier than usual, plenty of paper was scattered around, but he could not find anything to write with amid all the clutter. John sighed, about ready to give up. Turning around, he wondered why Sherlock had to pick today of all days to lose all his pencils when he almost bumped right into something strange. A large, black box loomed over him. It had several holes punched into it and seemed oddly familiar. With a jolt he realized that it had the same proportions as the trap they came across in the wall. It was the trap, John was sure of it. He shuddered as he recalled the dreadful racket the rat had kicked up after it became confined in that prison. With suspicion, he wondered why it was so quiet now, but then thought it better not to guess what had happened to its occupant. John was pulled from this silent contemplation by the sound of heavy footsteps. Before he could even think of hiding himself, the door burst open and in strode Sherlock himself. A dark scowl adorned his features as he muttered to himself. John caught something about a "brother" and "school" and "how it was all so tedious" before the bean's sharp eyes detected him.

"John!" In a flash, he was sitting in the chair by his desk looking down on his little friend. "I'm so glad you came today. You would not believe what happened to me at school…" He trailed off, looking concerned.

The frightened expression on John's face caused him glance guiltily at the black box next to him. "Actually, there's something I should probably tell you, John-"

At this point, the borrower thought it best to get a word in, "Sherlock, let me explain first…" And he did. John retold the whole ordeal as quickly as possible, not wanting to dwell on the unwelcome memories. By the end of it, Sherlock was horrified.

"I- I had no idea- John, I'm so sorry. Mycroft discovered the trap before I- he told me a rat- but I had no idea…" Sherlock ended up mumbling to himself. However, John wasn't finished, and he fell silent at the borrower's next bit of news.

"Sherlock, I'm leaving." He let that statement hang in the air for a second before continuing, "I'm leaving with my uncle and my little sister, Harry."

"You can't do that." Sherlock's voice was barely a whisper.

John took a deep breath. Now things were going to get tricky. Not only did he have to convince Sherlock that this was the right thing, his arguments would have to stand against himself as well. Because John hated to leave Sherlock. Though they were so vastly different, John couldn't deny the fact that they had become friends.

"I have to. I can't just think about myself anymore. My parents are dead. I have a greater responsibility to Harry now. Who else is going to look after her now but me? There's nothing for her here anymore, so we're going to find a new home elsewhere."

"John, you don't have to leave! I can take care of you, and Harry too, of course. Just please don't-"

"Sherlock," John raised his hand, interrupting the boy. Swallowing hard, the borrower was finding it difficult keeping his voice steady. Impossible, actually. "Stop. Please. You-you can't. And that's…not what I want."

"Not what you want?! What's that supposed to mean?" It was just as John feared, the boy was irrational. Things were getting out of hand and John wasn't sure he was going to be able to stay firm. He trusted Sherlock, but…

"Look, it means just what it sounds like, okay! I can't stay here. I don't want to, and I'm certainly not going to make Harry. I've made up my mind, Sherlock. You're not going to change it."

The boy's face grew dark. "I could make you stay. Your my only friend, John. Don't leave me."

John almost cracked then. He felt the tears. Felt them burn. Dear god, he felt like a train wreak. His emotions swirling like a raging storm within his belly. His heart already broken, the pieces were now being rent asunder.

"I can understand-" No, that was the last straw. John was struck by a sudden wave of determination. Sherlock had gone too far.

"No! No, Sherlock. Just, stop right there. You do NOT understand. You don't understand anything. Not about what happened. Not about what I am going through. No. Don't even try." He stopped for a moment, trying to calm down. He closed his eyes but opened them again almost immediately. All he could see behind his eyelids was blood. Walls covered in blood.

"Just," he softened his tone a bit, knowing this was hard on Sherlock as well. "Just understand this one thing; I can't stay here. It has nothing to do with you. Well, I realize you set that trap," Sherlock tried to interrupt, to explain himself, but John stopped him. "It's alright. Don't even tell me why, I can guess. Everything ended up fine, so I… I can't really blame you for that, I suppose. It just-just physically makes me ill, thinking about staying here any longer."

The hurt on Sherlock's face drove a spike of guilt through John's heart. He shook it off, however, knowing that he was making the right choice. More than that though, he could tell Sherlock was still not convinced.

"If you are my friend, Sherlock, and I hope to god you are, you will let me go."

Sherlock was quiet for a long time after that. The look he wore was sad, hurt, and conflicted. Running a hand over his face, he finally seemed to reach a decision. John noticed that when he removed his hands, his face had taken on a passive expression. All the pain hidden in his eyes

"Fine. Fine, go on. I- I won't hold it against you. Good luck, I suppose."

"Thank you." John moved to leave but then turned, as though as an after thought, and said over his shoulder, "goodbye, my friend." When Sherlock looked again, he was no longer there.

* * *

When John came back out onto the roof, he found Harry waiting for him anxiously. He tried to smile, but it turned into something of a grimace instead. She felt sorry for him. Tugging on his sleeve, Harry brought him down to her level and gave him a quick hug.

"Maybe you'll see him again someday?" She whispered in John's ear. As they pulled out of their embrace, he gave her one of his skeptical looks. She shoved him playfully, "hey, stranger things have happened, right?"

He shrugged, "I suppose so."

"Are we ready?" This question came from their uncle Rob, who was waiting by the plane. The two siblings hurried over to get strapped in. Before John sat down, however, he pulled his uncle aside for a private word.

"What are we going to do about the-" he choked up, glancing back at Harry to make sure she didn't hear.

Rob put a hand on his shoulder, "you mean the evidence?" He asked gently.

John nodded.

"I'll come back with some friends later and take care of everything. Don't worry."

"Thank you, for everything."

His uncle smiled before moving away and climbing into the pilots seat. John scooted in next to Harry soon after. This was the siblings first time ever flying and John couldn't deny that he was more than a little nervous. He was grateful for the feeling, though. It kept his mind off of what he was leaving behind. Perhaps Harry was right, though. Perhaps they would meet again someday. In the distant future when everything was better. At least, that's how John imagined it

* * *

** AN: I'm soooooo sorry for the delay! I got kinda frustrated writing this part :/ I felt like I wasn't doing the scene in the walls justice. I have no idea how stuff like traps work. And I am too lazy to try and figure it out in order to make my writing more believable. So, sorry if it sounded half-assed… **

**On a different note, I'm afraid this is the end for now. I won't be posting any more Pocket!John until summer time at least. This doesn't mean I won't be writing! But, I just need a little less pressure in my life right now. I hope y'all understand :) When I come back after this semester ends, I hope to be refreshed and ready to churn out chapters with the best of them! **

**Thank you so much for reading!**


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